Sunday, November 23, 2008

Always Kiss Me Goodnight

"That's amazing,... historical, even." I say, leaning into him as he points to the framed document. It's not really, but I'll tell you what is: the fact that I can't remember ever wanting to be kissed so badly. I'm twenty years old, not at all sure what romantic love is supposed to look like, and I've momentarily forgotten that I'm too busy for it.

Sleeping late, leisure time, Chicken In a Biscuit crackers: His appreciation for the small things in life is refreshing. His relief in being free after a four-year sacrifice to the U.S. Navy compels him to frame his discharge form. I'm like a real-life siren, one of the first women he dates after stepping off the plane that brought him home from Pearl Harbor. I'm not trying to start anything. (That's love for you, Dude, you should have kept your eyes closed.)

I step closer, surprised that a person with a deviated septum who can not sense a gas leak can suddenly smell peppermint and soap. The clock is ticking, but in that moment I forget the time. I kiss him first, and no one believes him for the next thirteen years, because I deny it. I play hard to get. I am strong and smart. I have plans; don't change them.

My heart doesn't tell my brain it's planning to make me do that. I step back, embarrassed, apologizing. He's savoring my discomfort, grinning from ear to ear, saying, "You know, I NEVER kiss on the first date." Now I want to slide under his 20 year old shag rug and disappear.

It's more goofy than romantic, but in the embrace I sense this connection is bigger than I expected, one that is worth the chance of taking this person by the hand for life, and possibly getting hurt. This initial glimpse of faith, hope and unexplainable love that glues us as we change and move through life arrives too early to mention aloud. It starts with that first risk, a kiss.

Hanging in our house is a plaque engraved with the words: "Always Kiss Me Goodnight." Even in the midst of tension or stress, it reminds me of that spot by the wall where our journey started, and the blessing of risks.


Putz said...

i can't believe that i would WRITE to a twenty year old, i am over triple your age....i always did like a girl that kissed first....when i was eighteen a girl i took to the prom had so much courage to come into my bedroom at 5 am just after the date and after passing up romantic opportunities all through that night and plant a nice kiss on me for our special night and then just leave for her bed....what a special thing i will never ever forget

Loren Christie said...

Thank you Mr. Putz, for thinking I'm twenty. The truth is, I've been 29 years old for the past four years now. :)

Beverly said...

That is a great reminder! I came here by way of Putz. He's a character, isn't he.

Dear Internet Traveler,

Welcome to my writer's blog, started about six years ago for fun. Over time, the writing I have posted has ranged from personal reflection, to Long Island history research, to tall tales for my own amusement, to feature articles for local newspapers. As you can see from topics listed here, I travel in many mental directions in regard to interests. Click on the tabs and labels to explore my strange mind which senses that you may be having a criss-cross day. If so, perhaps this blog will distract you. However, please note that if you tell me my blog is beautiful just to get me to advertise rhinoplasty surgery and cheap drugs from Canada in your comment, I will ask the gods to give you a tail that cannot be concealed.


Loren Christie

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